


Click

by yeaka



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-09 23:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12286467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Mid-Grand Prix, JJ finds an omega in desperate need of a kingly favour.





	Click

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Yuri on Ice or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He pulls the earbuds out as he gets into the elevator, taking a moment just to finish panting before he presses any buttons. He ran too hard again, too fast, breaking from a casual jog into a full on sprint, but that’s the way Jean-Jacques likes to work; he doesn’t do anything _small_. It’s worth the slight ache in his bones to know he did his best, and he hopes he’s still sore tomorrow; he wants to feel it _all_ , and channel that exhaustion into pure adrenaline. He never wants to be anything but active. Tomorrow, he’s going to pull off the best routine of his career. He tells himself that every time, but he means it every time.

And in this case, practice wasn’t enough, and he’s not even sure jogging was enough, because as soon as the elevator’s rising, the distraction rolls into him again. The hotel still reeks of _omega_ , not just the usual crowd of them, but one that’s _in heat_. It was almost impossible to focus during practice with that stench in the air—it must be one of his competitors, or else a coach, so close that he can’t seem to get away from it. As much as the jog cleared his head, the call of a ripe omega fogs it up again, and Jean-Jacques stifles a bitter grumble as the elevator hits its stop. He’s grateful his alpha status has granted him his own room—he’ll have to coat it in cologne just to get any sleep.

Then he steps off the elevator, and he’s instantly assaulted with it. His vision blurs for a few fleeting seconds, then swims back into place, and he spots the culprit. Thailand’s first-time champion stands right outside his door, _Jean-Jacques’_ door, and turns to give Jean-Jacques a friendly smile. 

Phichit lifts his hand, waving brightly, smile as radiant as ever. Jean-Jacques’ alpha instincts zero in: _Phichit’s the one in heat._ For one nauseating heartbeat, Jean-Jacques wants nothing more than to race across the corridor and pin Phichit to the wall, fuck him hard and claim him irreparably. His throat is bare, clearly visible above his collar, showing no signs of any alpha. And all Jean-Jacques can think is that he’d _love_ to mark that tanned skin up—he wants to bruise in his signature and watch Phichit proudly display it during tomorrow’s competition. 

But as fierce as Jean-Jacques’ instincts are, he _tries_ to be a decent person. He reins himself in and walks for his door, turning to open it rather than to look at the piece of eye candy on his doorstep. He offers a curt, “Hey, there,” while he fishes out his keycard and swipes it through the lock. 

Phichit chirps back, “Hey, JJ,” and before Jean-Jacques knows it, he’s got a pair of slender arms around his shoulders, a lithe body flush against his side, and Phichit’s warm breath ghosting across his ear. His inner alpha _rages_. And Phichit chuckles happily, “I was waiting for you.”

“Uh—”

“Can I come in?”

The smart thing, of course, would be to say _no_ , but Jean-Jacques’ never been good at denying either himself or his fans. He pushes open his door, and he doesn’t stop Phichit from slipping inside. Maybe it’s better that way—the last thing he wants to do is cause a scene in the hall, where anyone could come out and think the worst. He shuts the door behind them purely for that, and Phichit turns on the spot, lifting up on his toes to toss his arms around Jean-Jacques again. 

“Hey,” he repeats, in that silly, goofy sort of way that omegas do when they’re completely lost to their heats. It makes Jean-Jacques more impressed with Phichit than ever—he did amazing during practice this morning for someone this gone. Before Jean-Jacques can return the greeting, Phichit asks, “Can you do me a favour?”

Normally, Jean-Jacques would confidently say, ‘sure, anything,’ but given the circumstances, he just asks, “What do you need?”

“An alpha,” Phichit answers simply, as though that wasn’t obvious. He looks perfectly content for _Jean-Jacques_ to be that alpha. 

But Jean-Jacques knows that’s the heat talking. He just sort of looks at Phichit, dumbfounded, for a moment. He wouldn’t have thought himself Phichit’s first choice. He does know a lot of people want him, of course—he gets letters with propositions almost daily—but his fellow competitors have never shown him the same devotion as his fans. And he and Phichit hardly know each other, at least, not as much as Phichit seems to know most of the others. And all Jean-Jacques knows about Phichit is that he’s talented, graceful, sweet, kind, happy, and utterly and undeniably _adorable_.

Which... are sort of all good traits. His mouth opens to eagerly oblige, but he catches himself just in time from saying something as thoughtless as usual—because the problem isn’t _his_ desires, but his ability to control himself, and the mess Phichit would be left with. So he takes a hold of Phichit’s thin wrists and slowly moves them away from his shoulders, holding them at bay. He answers, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

Phichit gives him a startled look—which is fair enough; most alphas would jump at the chance to ravish a needy omega for a night, but most alphas don’t have Jean-Jacques’... _problems_. Phichit seems to wilt under the rejection, then quickly rebounds and leans forward, insisting, “B-but it just has to be for one night—”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Jean-Jacques actually winces at the tone—it’s painful to see an omega so distressed, especially one normally so happy as Phichit; his face looks _wrong_ when it’s twisted with worry. He struggles in Jean-Jacques’ grip, straining forward, but Jean-Jacques holds him back. He’s still dressed in simple training gear—black pants and a long-sleeved shirt, but both are too tight-fitting, showing off every taut curve and muscle he has to offer, making it even harder to refuse—Jean-Jacques can tell he’d be _damn fun_ in bed. 

He practically pleads, “You’re the king, right? You’re probably great at quenching heats!” Of course Jean-Jacques’ chest swells, the usual pride and confidence rising despite his better judgment. Phichit shakes his head, throwing in, “A-and I’m a really easy one, I swear! I only need, like... one round, and then I’ll be completely back to normal... well, at least for a few hours... but then two, three rounds tops, and I’ll be able to skate again tomorrow no problem!” 

Jean-Jacques had almost forgotten about that. It fills him with sympathy to remember what heats do to omegas—a need so strong it impedes their dreams. He can’t imagine that; he knows what he wants, and he’s able to always _go for it._ Phichit finishes quietly, “I... I really want to skate tomorrow...”

It’s torture for Jean-Jacques to suggest, “Try Christopher.” Surely, he’d happily fuck anything—omega, beta, even another alpha. 

But Phichit cutely wrinkles his nose, then comes back and says, determined, “But I want to be taken JJ style!” Jean-Jacques’ breath hitches—he feels like Phichit just found his weak spot. 

Phichit takes advantage of Jean-Jacques’ paralysis to slip free of his grip, falling down to the carpet. Perched on his knees before Jean-Jacques, Phichit arches forward towards Jean-Jacques’ crotch, and just in front of the growing bulge, he begs, “ _Please_ , JJ... I want to be taken by the king!”

Now Jean-Jacques’ breath is coming too fast—he knows his resolve is breaking. Phichit was already tempting, but kneeling to Jean-Jacques... he really is irresistible. Jean-Jacques can feel himself slipping into a rut and doesn’t have enough will power to pull himself back out of it. 

So he snaps, bending down to gather a fistful of Phichit’s dark hair, and he jerks Phichit up for a searing kiss. Phichit moans and instantly melts into it, tilting his head to deepen it, lips parting wide to welcome Jean-Jacques’s tongue. The kiss seals it. When Jean-Jacques rises again, he grabs Phichit’s shirt and drags Phichit up with him, turning him towards the bedroom. As soon as Phichit’s figured out where they’re heading, he takes off.

Jean-Jacques enters a second later, watching hungrily as Phichit jerks his shirt over his head. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, tossing it to the nightstand, and then is fumbling out of his pants and boxers while Jean-Jacques’ still just shedding his coat. He lets it fall onto a chair in the corner, hardly looking. He can’t take his eyes off Phichit: a gorgeous, creamy-brown expanse of smooth skin, hardly sporting any hair save the dark patch between his legs, and then he turns to Jean-Jacques, and his short cock’s already hard, jutting out like it wants nothing more than Jean-Jacques’ touch. It’s as cute as the rest of him—on the smaller side, lightly curved, flushed pink at the tip with round, tight balls beneath. Phichit only lingers in place for a moment, then climbs right onto the bed.

On all fours like a dog, Phichit lowers his face to the pillows, turning his cheek to the side so he can look back over his shoulder. He keeps his hips high in the air, legs spread, ass glorious displayed. An omega in heat actually _presenting_ to Jean-Jacques is the last straw; he couldn’t resist any more if he wanted to. Phichit’s hole is already twitching open, a thin trail of clear, natural lube slipping down between his cheeks to drizzle along his sac. Jean-Jacques watches in rapt attention as that hole flexes wider, pink, puckered muscles practically whispering Jean-Jacques’ name. Then Phichit really does moan, “JJ... please... fuck me JJ Style!” He looks exactly as sex-crazed as Jean-Jacques is.

So Jean-Jacques, still dressed in everything but his jacket and shoes, hurries up onto the bed. He climbs right to Phichit’s body, feeling the warmth it radiates, and pushes his trousers down his hips. Phichit cranes back to see the large cock that springs free, already stiff—Jean-Jacques’ never needed much to get hard. A pretty omega begging for him is more than enough. He mounts Phichit without another second thought, one arm bracing himself over his shuddering partner and the other clutching his shaft to guide it in. He presses the head of his cock against Phichit’s hole, and Phichit lets out a wail that would have the whole hotel gagging for it. Jean-Jacques suddenly feels incredibly lucky that _he’s_ the one Phichit went to. And then he reminds himself why: he’s the _king_ , and he deserves this.

He bends down to kiss Phichit’s shoulder, promising, “Hush, baby—JJ’s gonna give it to you.” Phichit grins excitedly and thrusts his rear up into Jean-Jacques, forcing him to grab it and hold it still. Lined up again, he gives a little push, and as soon as he’s popped the first centimeter into Phichit’s fluttering entrance, Phichit squeals in unadulterated pleasure. It rings in Jean-Jacques’ ears like a desperate plea for _more_ , and he obliges, pushing forward as hard as he can.

He goes so hard he forgets himself, the inner alpha taking over, and before he knows it, he’s slammed his way wholly inside—balls deep in Phichit’s stifling ass. Phichit cries out, channel clenching around him, and Jean-Jacques practically sees stars—Phichit’s incredibly _tight_. He’s molten hot, pulsing and wonderful. When Jean-Jacques stays still too long, just savouring the perfect sheath around him, Phichit starts to whimper and push up into him, ever eager for it. Jean-Jacques gives a shallow thrust, enjoying the squelch of Phichit’s juices around him, and then he draws out and stabs in so hard that Phichit collapses onto the mattress—Jean-Jacques nails him into it, grinding in, which Phichit squirms and wails. 

On the next thrust, Jean-Jacques draws him up again, looping an arm beneath his waist and dragging him back up to all fours. Phichit whines, but Jean-Jacques hisses in his ear, “Stay up for me, babe,” and licks the shell. Phichit moans and nods, muscles tensing in an effort to obey. Despite his size, Jean-Jacques knows he’s _strong_ , and he’ll manage. Jean-Jacques rewards the good behaviour with another thrust powerful enough to make the bed rattle against the wall. Jean-Jacques doesn’t spare a thought for who ever might have a room on the other side. They have to know he’s going at it. He’s _the_ JJ, and of course he gets laid all the time. Of course dripping omegas line up to have their soaking holes filled up with his cock. Even other competitors. There’s probably no one in Thailand that can fill Phichit up as well as Jean-Jacques can, because there’s no one else like him in the world. He pounds into Phichit with reckless abandon, lost in a full alpha rut. 

Phichit’s good for him, too. Phichit trembles and shakes with each merciless slam of Jean-Jacques’ cock, but he stays up, even trying to push back into it, taking each thrust with a ragged moan. He keeps trying to babble Jean-Jacques’ name, but new thrusts cut him off into broken sobs, worse when he tries whole sentences—he groans around a particularly harsh stab, “JJ, you’re so— _ahhh!_ —big!” And then Jean-Jacques gets to relish that, to swell with pride, to fuck Phichit harder with his massive cock and fantasize about rubbing it all over Phichit’s well-shaped body—he wants to run it through Phichit’s hair and shove it into Phichit’s open mouth. Phichit loves to talk, so he’s probably great with his tongue—he could probably swallow Jean-Jacques right down his throat and hum around it, happily taking each thrust as Jean-Jacques fucked his face. Jean-Jacques’ jaw stretches open, blunt teeth scratching the delicate skin of Phichit’s shoulder. He opens wide and bites down—Phichit shrieks in ecstasy.

He doesn’t touch Phichit’s cock. It’s not that he isn’t generous, but that he knows how omegas are in heat, and he knows that the second he touches Phichit’s dick, it’ll be over. So he lets it swing freely between Phichit’s legs, unable to even touch the mattress for friction. Next time, when Phichit’s not brainless with desire, Jean-Jacques tells himself he’ll touch Phichit right—he’ll jerk Phichit’s pretty cock until Phichit’s stomach is a mess with his own seed—maybe Jean-Jacques will be particularly generous, and even give Phichit two rounds before Jean-Jacques unloads in his delicious hole. But thinking about all the things he’ll do to this sweet omega later, when they’re not rapidly fucking out a heat, but _making love_ in the constant throes of a bond, makes him yearn to bite that bond into Phichit’s unblemished throat, and he wants to look into Phichit’s deep brown eyes when he does that. 

So he pulls back abruptly, ignoring Phichit’s needy whine, and he grabs Phichit’s hips, spinning Phichit right over. Phichit twists around, landing on his back, still impaled on Jean-Jacques’ cock, hips still lifted off the mattress. It gives Jean-Jacques a chance to really _look_ at him, and to see how _damn beautiful_ he is. He looks back up at Jean-Jacques through heavy lashes, dilated pupils and blushing cheeks, expression drenched in _sex_. He looks right into Jean-Jacques’ eyes and smiles dreamily, arms lifting up as though inviting Jean-Jacques to crawl into them. 

Jean-Jacques does so. He bends Phichit’s legs back with him, tossing a knee over each shoulder, and then he bends Phichit in two. He goes down to kiss Phichit’s mouth, not chaste even for a second—he stuffs his tongue into Phichit’s mouth and kisses Phichit with all the ferocity of a wolf on the prowl. Phichit eagerly kisses back, noises now stifled but no less hungry for it. Jean-Jacques rewards him with a slew of them, until the end is nearing, and Jean-Jacques can feel the tingling in his cock that foreshadows his knot.

Then his instincts scream at him, and Jean-Jacques listens, wrenching out to latch onto Phichit’s throat—he bites down, digging in so hard that Phichit _screams_ at the top of his little lungs. This is the one that’ll bond them—Jean-Jacques can smell Phichit’s pheromones reacting even as he sets it, can feel Phichit’s body giving way to him, can feel the tangible bond that forms between their brains, like a short string that all of Phichit’s pleasure skits across. His own desire surges back, and their two minds meet in the middle, culminating in the crash of their dual orgasms. Jean-Jacques slams down and stays there, and Phichit bursts—his untouched cock spurts a sudden stream of hot seed between their chests. Jean-Jacques grinds himself in right through it. His balls empty as his knot swells, plugging Phichit up to trap it all inside. For that moment, he’s dizzy with such _longing_ , and Phichit fulfils it all.

Phichit clings to him, trembling desperately, as the orgasm lasts and finally wanes. Jean-Jacques wants to live inside it, to stretch out and luxuriate in that hazy rapture, and it does linger longer than he’s used to—the growing bond between them ricochets it back. Phichit pants as coherency settles back in, and Jean-Jacques takes a little while, the new scent of Phichit’s bonded pheromones easing him into a new state of satiated peace.

But eventually, he does regain himself. Sanity returns, and with it, all the reservations: instinct gives way to thought, and Jean-Jacques remembers why he didn’t want to do this, because he knew he’d _do this_ : give in and go too far. He didn’t just satisfy Phichit’s heat, but went wild, fucked him way too hard for someone that has to perform tomorrow, and worse, _bonded him_. It’ll only last a couple months, but those are months that Phichit will _feel him_ , no matter how far apart they are, and he never wanted to condemn such a sweet person to that.

Collapsed atop Phichit and breathing hard, Jean-Jacques doesn’t know what to say. His head slips onto the pillow next to Phichit’s, their cheeks touching, but neither able to see each other’s face. Jean-Jacques doesn’t get off Phichit—he can’t, not with his knot still inside, like it will be for at least another twenty or so minutes. Their stomachs stay glued together with sweat. In the wake of such pleasure, Jean-Jacques feels _crushed_.

Phichit talks first, mumbling, “JJ...” but nothing else comes after it. Jean-Jacques doesn’t know how to start either. 

When Phichit shifts beneath him, Jean-Jacques lifts up enough to accommodate it. Now that he’s coming down, he sort of wants to push the covers back and get beneath them—Phichit probably should, at least; he’s naked, and Jean-Jacques probably doesn’t make for a very good blanket. But Phichit isn’t going for that—just the nightstand, where he grabs his phone. He taps a few buttons with his thumb, then holds it high above them, and he snuggles close to Jean-Jacques, his arm slipping around Jean-Jacques’ shoulder and his head tilted in Jean-Jacques’ direction. 

Jean-Jacques asks numbly, “What’re you dong?”

“Taking a picture with my new alpha,” Phichit answers, smile stretching wide. Jean-Jacques looks at him for a long moment while he fidgets and moves the phone, until it finally sinks in and Jean-Jacques’ sure: _Phichit isn’t mad_.

If anything, he looks delighted, and he sighs while he moves, “I can’t believe I caught such a hot one—I know a lot of people who are going to be jealous.” Then he seems to find the right spot, pausing to snap a picture. The light flashes.

Jean-Jacques recovers during that flash. He tightens his hold around Phichit, and he snuggles into Phichit right back, smiling for the next picture. He throws all his usual confidence into that one, and Phichit, if possible, lights up even more. After he takes it, he laughs, “That’s a great one! We’ll get tons of views!” Then he pauses, rolling his face towards Jean-Jacques, and asks, “Wait, can I post it?”

Through a broadening grin, Jean-Jacques answers, “Sure.” Phichit looks like he’s won the lottery. He immediately gets to work, and when it’s up, he rolls back to set his phone on the nightstand again. It makes his body twitch around Jean-Jacques’s cock, but it’s a pleasant sort of feeling that tingles through him—no longer arousing, now that he’s come, but pleasant nonetheless.

Finished, Phichit turns back into him. Phichit snuggles into Jean-Jacques’ chest and purrs, “ _My alpha_.”

Jean-Jacques holds him tenderly back, looking rather forward to their future.


End file.
